If My Tomorrow Never Comes
by Believe4Ever
Summary: "I'm praying!" Dean shouted, attempting to wipe the dirt from his forehead but just smudging it worse. "I'm praying now! Where are you? You said faith would prove to be useful! Well I'm PRAYING NOW!" *War AU; Destiel; potential Sabriel?; T for later violence; read and review please!*
1. First to Arrive

**I am writing this in an attempt to get out of my writing slump. I haven't had inspiration for any of my other fics and I've been having a lot of Destiel feelings lately. So I'm going to write this and hopefully it'll push me to write some of my other stories. And, I'll be honest, I have no idea how the whole army process goes so most of this is guessing and imagination, so when I get a lot of facts incorrect, please don't blame me…Though it is my fault…**

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"This is it."

"Are you sure you want to be doing this?"

"Of course I'm sure."

"You don't know what this is."

"Yes I do." He turned his head to gaze at the other man, eyes hard but giving a soft, reassuring smile like he always does. "It's hell."

Samuel Winchester stared back at his brother, his eyes swimming with mixed feelings. He knew better than to try and convince Dean to back down. His brother had always been one for fighting. It was amazing that he had actually gotten into the army with his record, though he suspected—no, he _knew_—that he'd lied about a lot of the familial details. As far as the army knew, they weren't brothers.

"Don't say it like that," Sam muttered, turning his head away so he wouldn't have to look at that fake smile. He was tired of seeing it on his brother's face. He longed to see at least one genuine grin but he knew that wasn't going to happen anytime soon, especially now that they were enlisted in the army.

"Come on, Sammy. You know it's true. Out there, in the battlefield, you might as well be walking right down the path to hell."

"That doesn't mean I have to think of it that way."

Dean licked his lips and finally averted his eyes from his brother, letting his smile drop and his face go slack. They'd been like this for a while now. Barely speaking and the little conversations they did have were short and always ended up with him saying the wrong thing. He didn't know how he was supposed to talk around his baby brother. It didn't help that Sam was two whole inches taller than him, standing like a giant among everyone else that they stood with. He was worried for his brother and him being larger just meant that that he was a bigger target for enemy lines.

But how was he supposed to admit that even with the anxiety that came with wanting to watch over his brother he was excited? Looking forward to going out into battle? He wanted to feel the heavy barrel of a rifle in his hands again and the adrenaline with the jolt of the gun and the smell of gunpowder wafting up his nostrils. All of it seemed so far away like he could never grasp it but he was going to be there. Soon he'd be out with his guns and other soldiers, firing off for a good cause.

It saddened him that his brother had insisted on joining as well. He'd promised his father that he'd look after Sam, and thrusting him into the midst of war probably wasn't what his father had meant.

Dean shook his head slightly, trying to release the thought of his father from his mind.

"Samuel Winchester and Dean Campbell?"

The brothers looked up to find a man standing before them who didn't appear to be that old but stress and overexertion had embed wrinkles into his face and hardened his eyes even worse than Dean's. He wore his uniform and stood stiffly though Sam noticed that he still had a slight slouch like he was above them in power enough to not be perfectly rigid. Strangely he wore a blue nylon cap atop his head.

"I'm Sergeant Singer," he explained, not bothering to let them answer. "You idjits are due to load in the truck, now get a move on!"

The two nodded and picked up their duffel bags, sprinting down the dirt path towards the lot where rows of transport vehicles were waiting. A few soldiers were running to their own trucks and the brothers waved and called when they saw the one they were assigned to starting up. Sam managed to give a last spurge of energy and hurl his duffel into the back which caught the attention of the other passengers, allowing them to get on before they left.

"Nearly lost ya," one of the soldiers laughed as he helped haul Dean up into the back. "You gotta be quicker than that if you're gonna make it through boot camp."

"Can't wait," Dean grumbled as he lifted the duffel back onto his shoulder. He stumbled a little as the car jerked forward, starting its drive down the road. He eased into a seat and glanced around, not really taking in any of the faces before him but pretending to all the same. It wasn't likely they'd be put in the same squad, so why should he bother with learning who they are?

A sudden fear spiked through Dean's chest. It was entirely possible that he and Sam would get separated. If that happened there was no way that he would be able to keep an eye on him after they got through boot camp. They'd be in different squads and unable to rely on each other as they always had before. He let out a small breath, trying to exhale the thought along with it.

"Jittery?" The same man who helped him in looked over. "Nerves'll calm soon enough."

"Thanks." Dean glanced up at Sam who was quietly chatting politely with another one of the soldiers. It was nice to know that his brother was still the good one of the two. Dean had always feared that their spending so much time together would change his baby brother into someone more like him; someone who no longer cared about anyone or anything.

"It's gonna be a long ride," the soldier informed Dean as he pulled out a deck of cards from his pack. "You wanna play a round?"

"Nah. I think I'll get some shut eye." The elder crossed his arms and settled back against the wall of the Humvee and closed his eyes. He was feeling too excited to actually get to sleep, but he didn't feel like conversing with anyone. He didn't want to get to know anyone anyway. He was there for the fighting and that was all; he wasn't there to make friends.

It was a few hours later that the truck finally came to a stop. Dean was shaken awake by his brother, since it would seem he actually had managed to drift off into a light sleep. He was glad for it when he found that it was already dark when they exited the vehicle.

"There's more stars than we're used to," Sam mumbled as he looked up at the sky. Indeed there were more stars twinkling above them than in their old town, but that still wasn't very impressive to Dean. He knew that there were other places were there seemed to be more stars than actual sky and the thought made a grin twitch on his lips for a nanosecond, but then it was gone when screaming started up in his ear.

"You idjits have to _move! _Come on, cupcakes, we don't have all night!"

Sure enough, there was Sergeant Singer, barking at them and waving them over to a small building just outside of the base they'll be staying at for the next few weeks. The groups of soldiers did as was told, and began to form a line into the building. The Winchesters managed to get a spot more near the front and Dean was relieved to know that he wouldn't have to wait much longer than he'd expected.

Soon they found that the building was where your bags were searched through. The brothers saw phones and cameras and pocket knives and various other items being tossed into two separate bins. When each bag was finished being looked through it was shoved back into the soldier's hands and they were instructed to go and wait by Sergeant Singer who proceeded to align each man up in a formation that grew as the line went through.

"Name," one of the officers questioned bluntly when Dean got to the front.

"Dean Campbell," he replied after a beat of hesitation, remembering to use his other last name. He stood calmly as his bag was looked through as he'd left his cell phones back at home and he had no reason to bring a camera of any sort. But then the officer took out a familiar device and was about to toss it into one of the bins. "Hey, not that!"

The officer looked back, a blunt and fairly annoyed look penetrating her features as she held up the GameBoy. "This is of no use. This is a waste of resources and space. This is a waste of _time_. You don't need it."

"It's mine. You can't just throw it out!"

"I may do as I wish with what I find unfit for what you need now please move on, Mr. Campbell, the rest of your belongings are adequate."

"No, give me my game!"

"Sir."

"Give it—"

"Dean." The elder looked behind him to find Sam giving him a look that he knew all too well to mean he was going too far and that he should stop. He wanted to keep fighting this woman before him. What right did she have to take something that was so valuable to him and just toss it out? He'd had that GameBoy since he was a child and he certainly didn't want to just give it up! "Go, Dean."

He bit his tongue and turned back, nodding roughly to the officer as he snatched up his duffel and watched her toss the system into the bin. He turned sharply on his heel and walked over to the sergeant, keeping his teeth gritted together as to not lose his cool. Singer guided him to his position in the formation and he stood there, back straight and toes curled as everyone else went through the line.

"Not so bad, huh?" Sam murmured when he was put into place just a few feet away from Dean. He was answered with an immediate shushing from the sergeant but he still glanced Dean's way. The elder just gave a slight shrug, eyes trained straight ahead and not bothering to look at his brother.

_I still got in, _Dean told himself. _You don't need that game to survive. It's fine. Soon you'll be out in all the gunfire and you won't even remember your stupid GameBoy anyway. Just get through boot camp and then you can be welcomed onto the field. You can hang on for a few more weeks._

He forced another smile onto his face, both to reassure Sam and tell himself that he was okay. It wouldn't be long, now. He'd be put into his squad the next morning, get his assigned rooming, and then everything could continue just as he'd planned.

_Better get used to hell, Winchester._

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**Okay, so no Destiel in this chapter, but there will at least be some Cas/Dean interaction in the next chapter, no worries. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I hope to update soon! :) Sorry again about the inconsistencies with how the military is actually supposed to work…**


	2. New Look, New Living

**This chapter will be longer than the last since that first chapter was really just the introduction chapter. I hope you enjoy it!**

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_TWEEEET!_

Dean practically jumped out of bed when the whistle pierced the calm air of the bunks tent. Though he didn't jump up to his feet, he did sit up fast enough to smack his head against the bunk directly above him. He let out a groan and hung his head, pressing his palms against the area that got hit, which was already stinging and tingling.

"Time to get up!" the familiar voice of their sergeant barked. He blew his whistle again, this time even louder and the soldiers scrambled to get up and out of bed. "Make your beds, idjits, and then meet me outside! Get to it, you have three minutes!"

Each person immediately got to work, yanking their sheets up to lay them down smooth, those on the top bunks having more trouble since they had to balance on their ladder to get the sheets. Sam was tall enough that he just needed to step up on the first two rungs of the ladder and he was fine. Everyone was trying to be careful and neat when making their beds but Dean was quick about it, leaving in a few wrinkles but knowing that it was satisfactory for military standards. He was one of the first ones out of the bunk tent and standing stiff before Singer, who was blowing his whistle every so often to get the others to rush.

Dean's eyes wandered to the other man who'd finished just as quickly as him. He had a solemn face and brown hair that was swept around his forehead to reveal more of his face. His beard stubble gave him a more defined jaw, though it was set firmly and emotionless. Those eyes, though—they caught Dean's attention immediately. The deep blueness of them and the striking way they gripped his attention tightly even if he wasn't looking his way. It made Dean wonder what would happen if he and this man happened to lock eyes together.

The man's dress was peculiar to say the least. Where Dean had stuck to wearing jeans, a simple black shirt and a light jacket over it, this man was wearing a disheveled suit and a tan trench coat. It certainly wasn't something that you'd expect a normal soldier to wear, that was for sure.

"Hey." Sam approached his brother and Dean finally wrenched his gaze away from the strange man to focus on his brother.

"Hey," he replied in a dull tone. "Did you sleep well? That mattress was killer on my back."

"It wasn't so bad. Or maybe I was just so exhausted because I didn't sleep on the ride over like you did."

"I was tired. Don't judge me like that."

Sam's lip curled into a half smile for a second but it disappeared just as suddenly as it'd come. Though they were slight and few, Dean appreciated the smiles Sam would give him from time to time. It at least assured him that his brother still had a heart left inside of him even after their awful living arrangement.

"Listen up!" Singer shouted, drawing everyone's attention towards him. "Right now you gotta go and get your lovely heads shaved down to look like a stubbed toe! I want no complaints; you're in the military now, idjits, you surely must've known what you're getting into. After you get your hair ripped out of your skull by some good razors you're going to go and get some ID cards issued to you. Keep these with you and don't lose them. You sure as hell ain't getting another one."

The sergeant blew his whistle once more and sent them jogging down the road. Dean knew that this was going to be just mild practice for what they were going to have to be doing later on. With a slight nod to reassure himself, he tried to speed up, sucking breath after breath through his nose and letting them go through his mouth. It was a good way to pace your breathing and not dry out your mouth.

The group arrived at the tent where they were to get their head's maimed. Three lines were formed; each of them moving by rather fast for none of them had particularly long locks of hair. Dean noticed that Sam was a bit jittery as he sat down and almost flinched when his long mane was being snipped away. The elder barely recognized his brother when he walked away with just a buzz cut. It certainly didn't look like the brother he'd known; it made Sam look a lot older.

"All right," he sighed as he took his seat on the stool. He looked up at the barber and gave a flirtatious grin. "Just a touch off the sides, huh?"

She rolled her eyes and turned on the razor. He folded his hands together, staring straight ahead while she worked and tried to ignore the tickling feeling as his hair was eaten away. To his surprise he was met with the look of the man from before. It was strange to watch his brown hair fall to the ground among the others' hair. It was as though his being bald was even stranger than Sam being bald.

A sudden chill ran up his arm when the man looked up at caught his gaze.

Those _eyes! _How was it possible for them to be so icy blue? Surely that wasn't possible? But when they're described as icy blue, they're icy—cold and unnerving. In a way, much like Dean's when he tried to be.

"Hey." Dean blinked and glanced up at the barber. "Get out. You're done."

"Oh. Thanks." He stood and walked out of the tent, glancing around for where to get the ID card. His mind was a little numb, though, as it kept wandering back to that man. There was something so eerie and entrancing about his stare, like he could see your soul. He certainly seemed like a strange person, even without his looks.

"You got your card."

Dean shook his head slightly to get out of his thoughts and looked up at his brother. "What?"

"Your card."

The elder looked down and realized that he did, indeed, have his ID card. He didn't even remember getting it. Well, he supposed that was to be expected when he was lost in his thoughts. He could often function without really thinking about it.

"I guess I did."

"I look awful, don't I?"

Dean looked up at Sam and noticed his hair again, and let out a breathy laugh. "You definitely look like a stubbed toe."

"Shut up, you don't look much better."

"Hey, my hair works. Yours doesn't suit you, Loreal."

"Did you just refer to me as a commercial?"

"Maybe I did. Because, you know, _you're worth it._"

Sam punched him in the arm but grinned at the same time, which eased Dean's heart. He was glad that Sam wasn't nervous like he'd expected he may be. He could enjoy himself and joke around. It was more than he could say about himself.

"Right!" Singer shouted, looking at each of them. "Keep your card close and don't lose it, like I told you. Now we can get on with the fun part." He grinned but it dropped as though he'd remembered something sour. "Get inside! Go!"

When everyone was settled inside and lined along the bulkheads, Singer walked in and held up a cell phone. It wasn't a very advanced one like an iPhone, just a simple Samsung flip phone.

"Each of you will get one phone call to let a loved one know you're all safe and sound," he informed them as he paced before them slowly. "Each phone call will be short and quick, no tearful goodbyes, just tell them you're fine and hang up."

The phone was passed down the line. Dean observed each person call a friend and watched their grin wide as they quickly talked to whoever answered. It almost made me angry that they had someone who they could be so excited about talking to. They were going into war soon. They shouldn't be so giddy.

When the phone was passed to him, Dean just handed it straight to his phone. The sergeant walked over, eyeing him curiously. "No one to call, Campbell?"

"No sir."

"What about your father? Mother?"

"Mother's dead and father's a dead beat, sir." He felt his heart pick up pace as he spoke. He never thought he'd refer to his father as such out loud.

"No siblings?"

"Only child."

"Not even a friend?"

"Who would want to keep a friendship with me?"

Singer chortled. "All alone? Well I can see why you've come to join the army. It's good. No reason to get attached."

Dean simply gave a curt nod and was sure not to answer back this time. He glanced over at his brother who'd gotten a few extra seconds to talk while he was distracting Singer.

"Off the phone, Winchester!" the sergeant barked.

Sam nodded and said into the phone quickly, "See you, Jess. Stay well. I'll write to you when I can. Bye." He closed the phone and handed it off to the next person. Singer continued walking down the line and Sam attempted to stand straighter.

"You called Jess?" Dean murmured, giving his brother a quick peek.

"Yeah."

"Didn't you two break it off like two weeks ago?"

"Who was I supposed to call?"

"Dude, you never the ex. No matter what the situation."

"We're still friends."

"Like that matters!"

"It does." Sam turned his head and stared firmly at his brother, pausing for a beat. "It does matter. I don't have anyone to call. I'm like you, Dean. I'm in the same boat as you. But I want to be able to have someone to call. Have someone to write to. I don't want to have to go through this war without any support."

The two held their gaze for a fraction of a second longer before Sam scowled and looked away. Dean rolled his shoulders and tried to focus on something other than his brother. He decided to follow the phone and watch everyone call their loved ones, their smiles appearing on their faces and the slight ring in their voice. Everyone was just so happy and it disgusted him.

That is, until it got to the one on the end.

"No family, Novak?" Singer barked to the familiar man in the trench coat.

"No sir," he replied. Dean was surprised at just how deep his voice was.

"No friends?"

"I was never one for making friends."

The sergeant gave a slight nod and peered over at Dean for a moment. "Looks like we have a couple of loners, then." He marched over to the middle of the room so he could address everyone at once. "All right! On each of your beds is a ditty bag. This has your uniforms for boot camp and your hygiene items. You will be able to put whatever personal items are left into this bag and keep it there. I want you to change into the uniform in the ditty bag and whatever civilian clothes you are wearing or may have stupidly brought with you, decide if you would like to donate them or send them home. You'll be given a cardboard box for the clothes you want to send home. The donated clothing just put all of it into a single pile so we don't have to walk around to pick up your dirty laundry. Got it?"

"Yes sir!" the group shouted.

"You pay for the weight of the box you send home so choose carefully if you _really _want to keep it! Now get a move on!"

They headed back into the bunks tent, finding that, sure enough, there were small duffel bags sitting on each bunk. Dean walked over to his bed and eyes widened slightly when he found his bed to be the only one stripped and the sheets lying scattered. "Hey!"

"Problem, Campbell?" Singer walked up behind him.

"Yeah, my _bed! _Why is it all messed up?!"

"You did not make it properly. There's a difference between being fast and being good. Remake it and remake it _well._ You'll have to be quick or we're leaving without you."

Singer smirked as he continued wandering around the tent, barking at some of the random soldiers. Dean grumbled under his breath as he gathered up the sheets and began attempting to remake the bed.

"Do you require any help?"

Dean sighed, expecting it to be his brother as he looked up. "No, Sam, I do not need—" He stopped short when he found it was the fellow in the trench coat—the sergeant called him Novak, didn't he?

"I believe you have me mistaken for someone else." The man walked around to the other side of the bed and helped tug part of the sheets back to make it smooth. "But this process will go by a lot quicker if you had someone to assist you." He pulled the cover over and began to tuck it in under the mattress.

"Right . . . Don't you need to get dressed up in your uniform?"

The man paused for a moment, hand hovering over the pillow on the floor. "Of course. I will. I just thought I'd help you first."

"Well that's just sweet of you. But I don't need it."

"I don't mind." He placed the pillow on the mattress. "Besides, I'm a quick changer."

"Uh-huh. Well thanks I guess." Dean picked up the ditty bag, which had been sitting discarded on the floor, and rummaged through it. He found travel sized shampoo bottles, soap, toothbrush and toothpaste, floss; all hygiene necessities. Sitting under all of that was a change of clothes; a simple tan shirt and cargo pants.

He stripped down, pulling up the pants as he kicked his clothing away. He didn't need it. There certainly wasn't anyone he would send it to. Might as well donate. He slipped on the shirt and adjusted his necklace. He remembered when he'd gotten it; it was a gift from Sam. One of the few Christmases that was actually happy, though their father was gone like he always was.

"You idjit!" Most people's attention were drawn to Singer screaming at one of the soldiers, a taller man with a semi-smirk on his face and amused eyes, like he didn't mind being yelled at right in the face by their sergeant. "Condoms? You bring _condoms _with you? This ain't no summer camp! You can't just sneak into a woman's tent and get it on! You came here to be trained and go through hell and you certainly ain't gonna get any pleasure out of it!" He snatched the rubber away from the  
soldier and left, grumbling about their idiocies.

Novak gave a sigh and shook his head. "I cannot believe he did that . . ."

Dean glanced over, eyebrow raised in curiosity. "You know him?"

"That's Balthazar, my cousin. When he found out I was applying for the army he decided to do the same. I don't understand why. He was never really one for violence. Just parties."

Dean nodded, but he understood why this Balthazar brought them. He was expecting a chance to get a good time and if you're going to do just that, you may as well use protection. No need to be pregnant out in the field.

"What is your name, anyway?" Dean asked as he checked over the bed to make sure that it was perfect for Singer.

"Castiel Novak."

"Balthazar, Castiel . . . weird names."

"Our family is a religious one. They decided to give a lot of us gospel names."

"What's yours mean then?"

"I've been taught that 'iel' means 'of God' and since the beginning is 'Cast' then I must be considered a shield of God. That's how my parents explained it to me, anyhow."

Dean just gave a nod, deciding not to mention that he was an atheist. He'd learned a long time ago that there wasn't anyone watching over you and there never would be. If you wanted something done you couldn't just sit around and hope and pray that something miraculous would happen. You have to make it happen yourself.

Castiel was just finishing getting his uniform on when Singer walked in, yelling at them. "You gotta get tested! You better hope that you've drunk enough water because you gotta give a urine sample." He tossed cups to each soldier and Dean fumbled when he caught it. "Bathrooms are outside and you will not be able to leave until you give the sample. Better fill up on liquid, idjits!"

"Well this'll be boring," Dean sighed as he sat down on the bed. "Most can't just pee on command."

"It is important to stay hydrated," Castiel minded as he pocketed the cup. "As long as you do that it wouldn't be all that hard." He left the tent and Dean sighed as he lay back on the bed. He knew he should be gulping down water like everyone is doing, but he didn't feel like it. Part of him just wanted to stay there. He knew that boot camp was going to be borings since nearly all of it is just working out and having to learn to listen to the drill sergeants, but he was still eager to actually go out and feel the sun beat against his face and the cacophony of gunfire fill his ears.

In the next few hours, Dean drank some water like everyone else and was able to give the sample. When everyone had given their sample, they were able to choose a bed if they didn't like the one they had already and get to sleep.

Just before he drifted off listening to his brother's snores above him, Dean noticed that Castiel was in the bed next to him, sleeping soundly.

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**Reviews are greatly appreciated, since I have no idea if this is going well or not.**


	3. Work Hard and Get the Boot

**Wow, I've been in the writing zone today! I might write one, MAYBE two more chapters today but I wouldn't expect any more.**

**And I'll admit it: this chapter is a little boring. I apologize for that. But the story picks up soon, I swear! I still hope you enjoy reading this chapter :)**

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The next few days proceeded without too many events. It was mostly full of listening to Singer and following orders. Everyone received a belt with a canteen and instructed to drink a lot of water to stay hydrated. Dean was never one to drink a lot of water—alcohol was more his style—but he knew that he had to do as was told.

The only time they really got to see a number of females were during meals since they were mostly kept separate. Dean always saw Balthazar flirting with them even though they weren't supposed to be talking when getting their food.

At one point soldiers had to go through a process where they were asked if they had lied when joining up. Sam had been completely honest in his application, simply not including certain traumas he'd been through as a child. Dean, of course, had lied through a majority of his application, but kept his cool during the questioning. Both brothers had to lie when they were asked if they'd ever been depressed or sad. They were used to lying about things, though, so it wasn't that hard to do as such.

Somewhere along the way they'd gotten blood drawn, probably for more testing, they wouldn't say exactly what for. They also had to learn to always march, keep a straight back like a board, keep their belongings. It was learning and learning and learning. Sometimes they got shots to fight against potential diseases.

Finally, _finally_, they were admitted as fit for full duty. Some people had been admitted home during the process, and Dean was glad that he and Sam had made it this far.

"Tomorrow is training," Dean mumbled as he lay in his bed, staring at the bottom of his brother's bunk. It was dark and most of the other soldiers were already asleep but Dean was too excited to sleep. Boot camp was finally beginning and they wouldn't have to practice marching every single day.

"You should sleep," answered Sam, voice slurred and tired like he was just drifting into sleep when he was interrupted.

"I'm trying to, man. But it's exciting."

"You're going to be exhausted tomorrow if you don't sleep now . . . Just close your eyes and shut up. It'll come soon enough."

Dean gave a sigh and turned over, trying to do as his brother instructed. He saw Castiel, already fast asleep like he always was as soon as he lay down. It seemed to be the only time that he appeared to be . . . peaceful. All day he kept a straight face and his eyes always searched everything with interest like he was drinking everything before . . . something. Maybe he believed he was going to die in this war. A lot of people probably thought they were going to. It was always possible.

_Sleep, _Dean reminded himself and he closed his eyes, trying to beckon sleep forth and sure enough, after lying still for about twenty minutes, he drifted off.

The next morning the tent was woken up by the familiar squeal of a whistle. Everyone was used to being woken up early by the shrill noise and they did so like machines. Everyone would get up and make their beds, meeting the sergeant outside for orders. Dean was always one of the last to exit because he always wanted to make sure his bed was perfect and up to Singer's expectations.

"Today you start real boot camp!" the sergeant spat, glancing down the line of them. "You will be pushed to the best of your abilities. You'll feel sore. You'll complain. Hell, some of you may even cry. You'll still get up early and I don't want to hear about how sore your legs are! We will break you down and build you back up just how you are supposed to be." He smirked. "Now, fifty jumping jacks! Go!"

Off they went. They jumped up and did their jumping jacks, listening to his shouts and orders to pick up the pace. Soon after they performed sit ups, they ran laps, they did pushups. It was just like the movies, brutal and made their muscles burn. Dean continued to try to breathe through the nose and exhale through the mouth but after a while he just had to suck in his breaths quicker.

Days passed in a similar manner. Each day everyone felt more and more tired but still tried to keep up with what they were to do. They had to run faster, get stronger, burn more fat, build muscle, study for certain tests, still stay hydrated, and _sleep. _Sleep became a sweeter gift than any amount of sugar could bring. It became more important than food to some people, who would skip some of dinner just to get a nap in.

Boot camp dragged on, but it was drawing to a close. Everyone was stronger and more used to their sleeping patterns. They'd eat food quicker, run faster and even started developing friendships with others. Dean mostly kept to himself and sometimes talked to Sam, but no one else, really. Not everyone was going to be in the same division anyway. He may as well develop friendships with those who he was going to have to rely on to stay alive.

"How come you never talk to anyone?" Sam asked one evening at dinner as he bit into his bread. Dean shrugged and sipped his water. "I mean, you can't stay so antisocial the whole time."

"Most of these people are going to be sent to different stations, Sammy. We won't be seeing half these people ever again. Why should I develop friendships now?"

"It helps get through the day because you don't have to focus entirely on Singer screaming in your ear."

"I don't need friendships. I need alliances. And I won't even need those until we're shrouded by gunfire and smoke." He stabbed a piece of his meat. "Friendship can wait."

Sam sighed and moved his vegetables around on his plate. "You haven't even had a girlfriend in . . . well ever. A lot of one-night-stands. Certainly got you a reputation in high school."

"I don't need relationships."

"All humans need relationships. Without them they go mad from lack of interaction." He looked up and shoved a spoonful of peas into his mouth. Dean just scowled and refused to meet Sam's eyes.

"I'm fine."

In the days following were a lot of medical exams. They were checked for blood pressure, another urine test, general eye exams, x-rays, a lot of shots, dental checkups, and more. Dean was sick of being poked and prodded by so many doctors and wished that it would be over with already.

Inspections were awful as well.

Dean didn't expect to have to be able to perform perfect marches, but he did. Luckily he was used to them and was able to perform them perfectly fine.

Posture was also checked, as well as making sure that their uniforms were clean. Dean got some marks off on that one but it wasn't terrible. They were checked to be sure that everything was clean in their bunks and lockers, made sure they could fold and store them well enough, and so on.

Mostly, it felt like a waste of time.

_When will this be over? _Dean though bitterly as he continued with the tests. They were tested on their knowledge of First Aid as well. To his surprise, Castiel did perfectly on that test.

"Good job, Novak," Singer admitted with a slight nod. Castiel just saluted back.

"Thank you, sir. It comes naturally to me."

"Let's hope shooting does too."

They began practicing with weapons. It was Dean's turn to be skilled with shooting off pistols. Sam was fairly skilled as well, as Dean had taught him when they were younger. Castiel fumbled a bit and got help from another soldier who showed him how to hold it.

"Don't be so stiff," Dean added as he noticed Castiel's tight grip on the gun. "You need to be relaxed or your aim will be off."

Castiel nodded and released his grip slightly, giving a calm sigh as he did so. The next time he fired he had a better shot. "Thank you."

By the next week they were spending a lot more times in the shooting range, practicing their accuracy and technique. They began getting trained and a few were impressed by Dean's talent with guns and had him assist some of the others who were having trouble.

Most of which was Castiel.

"Come on, man," Dean sighed. "You need to relax your shoulders or the recoil will hurt like hell."

"I'm trying." He rolled his shoulders and tried to relax but when he relaxed his shoulders, his hands gripped tighter and vice versa.

"All right, here." Dean pressed his hands onto Castiel's shoulders. "Relax your hands." He attempted to do so and Dean felt his shoulders start to tense under his hands. "Shoulders too. Just imagine you're holding something besides a gun." After a short moment of hesitation, he did that as well. "Now just squeeze your fingers together."

The gun fired off and hit the target. It wouldn't have been a lethal hit, but it was better than any of his other shots.

"Better," Dean said, dropping his hands. "Now try it again. Remember to relax."

Castiel let out a breath and pulled the trigger again. This time it hit the target in the bullseye. Dean grinned. "Good."

In the days following were even more tests. Exams. Studying. Dean felt like he was going to explode if he was going to have to go through one more question.

"I dropped out of high school to get away from exams!" he growled to Sam as he shook his head stiffly, flopping back onto his bed.

"It's not that bad," Sam sighed. "Come on, next question.

The final week came. There was a final comprehensive test, making sure they understood what they had to learn. Most people did well, and Dean got average, missing seven of the fifty questions, but still passed. There was another drill inspection like the two weeks back, and it wasn't any different. The final physical health test was an easy pass for everyone since they'd built a larger amount of stamina and muscle strength. Their uniforms were inspected as always, but this time Dean was prepared and made sure to keep his uniform cleaner than the last one.

Then, it was over.

"Congratulations, idjits!" Sergeant Singer shouted to them as they stood stiffly in a line. "You are the ones who made it through boot camp. You get a short leave and then you'll be reporting back here to be put in your division and shipped off. Congrats, men. You're soldiers now."

Dean grinned, widespread and eager. It was time. He was going to into battle.

* * *

**I understand that typically there's some other training that comes after boot camp, but I've decided to just jump into the actual war. You're all excited, aren't you? Yeah, I know you are. Angst is a comin'!**

**Reviews are greatly appreciated since I have no idea if my writing is that entertaining.**


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